Crooked Perspective
by pretense
Summary: As the two spirits mindlessly proceeded with their intimacies, their focus was reasonably far from the plights of the stationary length of wood – the real victim of the situation if there ever was one.


He was created for the boy, that fact he knew. Crafted under the influence of the moonlight on that fateful wintry night, he came forth with a purpose. He was special, just like the boy revived from the frozen lake.

The first touch enlivened him, the magic in his core responding in hasty excitement to the spread of frost over his wooden length. And there was that smile – the bright and shining measure of relief as his partner, his master came to the realization of what they could achieve together. A curious tap and he sent forth icy caricatures of foliage on the tree bark. The boy's smile grew wider, more heartfelt this time, and he felt incredibly pleased with himself. The grip around his center was secured with both of the spirit's hands as a thrum of excitement vibrated through the teenaged body, affecting his medium in turn.

Sweet laughter filled the chilly air as the boy wielded him in graceless skating antics, gliding across the frozen lake and treating it like his – _their_ – personal canvas. The wind picked them up, lifting boy and staff into the air like a child would with its new playthings. He felt the invigorating thrill of flight, knowing from that moment hence that this was a companionship to last their whole lives. It was all going so well that even he didn't expect how quick the wheel of fate would turn upon them.

Realizing their intangibility led his master to isolation. It lasted many winters but the boy couldn't deny his true nature for long. The spirit had laid his questions to the moon countless times since but never had he been given any answer. While it was a sure pain to witness, there was nothing more disheartening than the knowledge that he could do nothing about it; for he himself only knows what the moon had told _him_ upon his creation: that he was to serve Jack Frost.

And serve he did – faithfully, wholeheartedly, anything to assure that Jack that he has a purpose. They've stuck together though every adventure and mishap and the staff knew his loyalty lied with Jack until the very end but… but this was different.

Jack's smile now came with a lascivious slant, the mischief in his eyes shining with dark intentions.

He'd witnessed this dance from its conception. A little two-step that started with an infinitesimal unassuming brush of hands, then Jack pushed for more – careful, unsure, but eager enough to surpass all the insecurities – and once the pair had recognized it for what it was… well, it was only a matter of time.

After all, the Guardian of Fun was susceptible to all variations under his domain.

He was wary – and with good reason. The last time he'd been in direct contact with the bringer of nightmarish fears ended in his breakage. Not the most pleasant experience of his lifetime and certainly not one that he'd wish to relive any time soon (or at all, really). But when his master started to develop certain _feelings_ directed at that certain _someone_, well, what could he do? It certainly wasn't the first time Jack indulged in a crush but it _was_ the first time that the object of his affections actually reciprocated. With fervor, he should add.

He was always the first one to feel the Boogeyman's approach; sleek and stealthy, creeping from the dark alley Jack was currently walking through. As the imposing form of Pitch Black materialized, his shadows crept over seemingly with a mind of their own, curling around his base and pulling at him just enough to startle Jack and give Pitch an opening for a quick peck on the cheek.

"Hello, love," came the Nightmare King's affectionate greeting, the light dusting of frost on his lips thawing away almost instantly in contrast to the icy patterns that covered Jack's cheeks.

"Pitch!" The gasp came with the lowering of Jack's defenses, his whole body turning on his heel to face the older spirit. "I… I thought you were busy," the question came with a grin that did nothing to hide Jack's enthrallment with the Boogeyman's presence. It _has_ been two weeks since he'd last seen the other.

A tiny smirk on Pitch's features told of his undisclosed fondness for the boy, they never spoke of it – this relationship building between them, physicality was more preferred. His arm brushed against Jack's as he stood beside the boy, hands clasped neatly behind him. "Well I was, but as of the moment I am not and I was hoping you weren't caught up in your duties either…"

The way Jack's grip tightened around him was a surer sign than the coy tone his voice took on when he replied. "Oh I don't know… I do have a snow day quota to keep now." His easy demeanor turned sly, taking lofty steps as he moved to stand a few feet in front of the Boogeyman. "But you know what they say–" Faster than a blink, Jack had Pitch caught by the neck with the crook of his staff. It was precise, practiced, and Jack beamed at his success.

If his staff could shiver it would've, being too-close for comfort with the Nightmare King wasn't something he particularly enjoyed but he couldn't exactly protest. Not when he could read the two spirits' body language all too well and, really, by this point he should've known to just throw all sense of personal space out the window.

Pitch's momentary surprise dissolved into a cunning leer, continuing the proverb in a low, suggestive tone. "Oh I think I know this one… All work and no play makes Jack–" The tug of the wooden crook cut off his words, pulling him closer and down to the young Guardian's level, lips nearly brushing.

"A _very_ horny boy." Jack punctuated the statement by pressing himself up against the taller figure.

The shadows came to life as Pitch responded to the kiss, shooting out from the ground and enveloping the pair leaving only empty space in their departure. They emerged in Pitch's underground lair, in a dark elaborate bedroom he recognized too-well.

Jack unhooked him from Pitch's neck, a momentary reprieve because in the next second Pitch's hand was upon him, long fingers wrapped firmly around his form. Pitch used him to steer Jack towards the bed. Once the back of Jack's knees hit the edge, the kiss was broken and Jack fell sitting atop the dark satin covers. More than that, the frost on his staff receded with the loss of Jack's touch.

He was in Pitch's hands now and an old irrepressible fear crept through him, stronger than the wave of arousal that was quickly overcoming his master. Jack turned towards him, blue eyes a tad worried, fingers twitching to reconnect with his medium but Pitch distracted the immortal teen with dark murmurs and the slide of his hands through snowy hair.

"Not that look again," Pitch admonished with a chuckle, drawing Jack's face towards him as he moved to stand between the Guardian's legs. "You know I have no intention to bring you harm…" Eyes of tainted gold found the patch of skin at Jack's nape still healing from the bite bruises of their last encounter. "Well, nothing more than what you enjoy, in any case."

The flush of ice on Jack's cheeks thickened as he leaned in to Pitch's touch, arms wrapping around the slim waist and drawing the Nightmare King nearer. He pressed a soft kiss to the sliver of ashen skin revealed by parting of the ebony robe, inhaling the musky scent of darkness before he raised his eyes to the other. "Set it aside then," he murmured, fingers tracing figure-eights at the small of Pitch's back. "I believe I was promised a bit of fun in exchange for canceling my serious-business Guardian duties."

"Were you now?" Amusement lingered on the edges of the Boogeyman's expression.

Now that those ashen digits were sliding away, he couldn't help but suddenly miss them – especially when curling shadows took their place. He found himself relocated against the bedside table, an exquisite work of dark oak and intricate carvings. Propped up, he was among the silent witnesses to the consummation of a decidedly adult kind of fun.

Jack scooted to the center of the bed with Pitch prowling after him like a predator. Breathless moans and muffled groans permeated the air as they resumed kissing, hands moving past the barricades of clothing to caress, to clutch, to claim. As the two spirits mindlessly proceeded with their intimacies, their focus was reasonably far from the plights of the stationary length of wood – the real victim of the situation if there ever was one.

He could feel the tendrils of darkness slithering up his form, teasing him the same way their master was fondling his. He cursed his immobility, cursed the way those keening sounds left Jack's red lips and the growing expanse of pale flesh exposed by Pitch's ministrations.

Pitch had barely stripped the teen of his blue hoodie when Jack wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling him into a needy kiss. A pleased growl came from Pitch; he used his weight to keep the spirit in place as the lean limbs spread frost over him with their possessive grip. Haphazardly, Pitch threw Jack's hoodie in the general direction of the floor, unknowingly hitting another object on the way.

The clunk of the wooden staff as it fell on the marble floor went unheard over the gasps that escaped Jack. Judging from the sound of a zip being undone it wouldn't be long before – whoop, there it is. The tanned capris end up on the floor a little ways from the staff which has Jack's hoodie tangled with the hook at its top.

Down there the shadows were at their strongest, writhing and lapping at his sides just an inch short of actually shrouding him in their darkness. Whines and grunts, a scuffle of satin sheets and the rebound of bedsprings, the sounds that rained from above only seemed to encourage the shadows. He tried to fend them off, managing with great effort to spread three inches of frost on the floor surrounding himself. The lurking shadows backed off in alarm; it lasted until the sheet of ice started to melt. The underground lair held a cool temperature but it was certainly not cold enough to maintain wintery elements. Darkness was slowly stalking back in; he could almost imagine their pointed sneers, a ghostly sensation of inky tendrils slinking up and all over him. He braced himself for the worst. The shadows reared up, ready to pounce when a dark article slid down from the edge of the bed.

It was a long robe, silky-smooth as though it was crafted from the shadows themselves. The constant motion of the bed had displaced it from its perch and its owner was not likely to notice its absence any time soon. The robe fluttered down, driving back the lurking shadows with its descent, covering Jack's staff and parts of his hoodie as it settled on the floor.

No words could describe the terror he felt at being so completely covered by the dark material. It wasn't heavy, rather weightless really, but its presence on top of him robbed him of all light, of functioning rational sense. Faintly, he could still hear Jack – whimpering and moaning out Pitch's name in between words that he wouldn't dare speak outside this room – and the rustle of covers accentuated the slap of sweat-sheened skin. He abhorred being in the dark like this, anything would be better than being submerged in this abysmal blackness – and yes, that included witnessing the carnal relations of his master with the Nightmare King.

His worry-addled mind tried to focus back on his core, one more attempt at creating frost to drive back this unwelcome darkness but his thoughts froze at the feeling of a warm caress going up his sides. Stock-still, he felt the definite movement of the robe over him, scooting ever closer in a gradual pace like it was giving him a chance to… to what exactly he couldn't figure out. It wasn't like he could actually move to show his disagreement. Then the cloth sneaked under him, wrapping itself securely all over and in spite of his fearful predisposition, he realized the Boogeyman's shadow of a robe was initiating an embrace.

He didn't understand the purpose of it. Getting chummy with the clothing article of his master's lover won't exactly further the relationship, which, let him just go on record to say he honestly didn't have anything against. There was a good bit of mistrust at first, naturally, but as Jack warmed up to Pitch – started freefalling into the addictive, illogical experience that was love – he found little to actually complain about in regards to the man and his treatment of Jack now that their mutual attraction was finally out in the open.

Jack's happiness and well-being had always been, _will always be_ top priority for him. And if the slew of sensual _yes_es and exclamations of overwhelming pleasure coming from the bed were anything to go by, he knew that Jack was in good hands.

So maybe a little cuddling with the Boogeyman's robe wouldn't be anything too drastic. It helps keep away those mean, depraved fearlings in any case.

* * *

**A/N:** The challenge was to write a fic featuring Jack's staff as the main character. Then it escalated to writing a romance with Jack's staff and Pitch's robe. I guess I failed on the actual romancing between staff and robe but cuddling is a good start yeah?

This definitely sets the record for weirdest piece of work I've dared to produce.


End file.
